Son Volt

The 1990s country-rock scene is represented by Wilco and Son Volt, the two bands formed by the former members of Uncle Tupelo (Jeff Tweedy and Jay Farrar, respectively). Farrar moved from Illinois to Louisiana and found in Dave Boquist (guitar, banjo, violin) the perfect partner to tell his American stories, rooted in the Midwest, working-class, and small-town experience.

Trace (Warner, 1995) is essentially a concept album written during Farrar’s pilgrimages along the Mississippi River. He retraces the collective consciousness of those rural areas through the bleak vision of Out Of The Picture and the philosophical arc of Windfall. Occasionally (Drown and Route) he ventures into electric tracks, brushing against the sound of the Rolling Stones, but his true calling lies in mournful, heartfelt ballads like Tear-Stained Eye and especially Ten Seconds News, the simple acoustic story of Too Early. Neil Young (once again) and Gram Parsons are the main influences on these slow, weighty meditations on the meaning of human existence.

Straightways (Warner, 1997) tends to repeat itself a bit. Although Farrar tries to liven up the sound with a couple of rock excursions (Caryatid Easy and Cemetery Savior, nothing special really), and with the early Byrds’ jingle-jangle energy on Picking Up The Signal, the band’s strength remains the solemn Tom Petty–style lullabies (Back Into Your World above all), and once again the most powerful moments are the mournful ones, such as the bleak lament of Been Set Free. The rest is just too country. While the sincerity of the artist and the skill of the musicians are undeniable, the problem remains that these songs are merely vehicles for storytelling, and—as is often the case in country—stories that are not particularly compelling. As musical works, they hold very little value.

Wide SWing Tremolo (Warner Bros, 1998) alleviates the sense of dejavu with stabs at southern boogie (Straightface, Right On Through and Flow), and with a few surreal instrumental tracks (Jodel and Chanty) that are probably worth more than the band's fans realize. Farrar is still himself in the mid-tempo Medicine Hat and shines in the mournful and almost mystical Streets That Time Walks and Carry You Down, but he is clever enough to know that there are only so many ways one can repeat the same story until it is perceived as the blabbering of an old man, no matter how erudite the words.

Unfortunately, Farrar's first solo, Sebastopol (Artemis, 2001), continues in the derivative style of Son Volt's Wide Swing Tremolo. Other than the apocalyptic Feel Free and the catchy Vitamins, the album plods along with mildly entertaining ballads like Outside The Door, Barstow, Voodoo Candle, that add little to the canon while retelling stories that have been heard countless times before. Damaged Son, Make It Alright, Drain are too thin, no matter how pretty. And, finally, Different Eyes and Clear Day Thunder try too hard to achieve a level of drama that is just not within Farrar's reach. Strings, synthesizer and saxophone add a sensual texture to the project, but cannot dispel the feeling that Farrar has, quite simply, precious little to say.

The five-song EP ThirdShiftGrottoSlack (Artemis, 2002) sounds like left-overs, although Farrar's music is ever catchy and warm.

Farrar's second album, Terrior Blues (Act, 2003), is even more confused and unfocused. Maybe the idea was to produce an album similar to the Byrds' middle phase, when surreal instrumental sounds (the several Space Junk pieces) alternated with catchy vocal refrains (No Rolling Back, Hanging on to You) at a country pace and inhabited by bleak lyrics. Truth is that Farrar is no Graham Parsons and he is no Roger McGuinn. He is intriguing when he deconstructs the blues (Fool King's Crown,) and country music (Hard Is the Fall), and is certainly more effective in his chamber folk-jazz ventures (Cahokian, Out on the Road), but the center of mass is badly tilted towards what he does worst. Stone, Steel & Bright Lights (Artemis, 2004) is a live album.

A Retrospective (2005) covers the years from 1995 to 2000 (the first three albums) but contains too much filler.

Son Volt are a significantly different band on Okemah And The Melody Of Riot (Sony, 2005), as Farrar surrounds himself with a different set of musicians. Farrar dominates the proceedings, but the others play the music. They play in a manner that is neither enthusiastic nor creative. While technically proficient, they sound like hired hands who reluctantly perform music that they don't believe in. Neither does Farrar, who offers half-baked compositions with trite lyrics and, basically, hardly a reason to turn them into an album. It is also odd that a Woody Guthrie tribute (as the title and Bandages and Scars imply) would offer such loud music. Farrar is a better popsmith (Who, World Waits For You) than a storyteller, but here he tries to be too much of a storyteller in the old tradition.

Farrar's side-projeect Gob Iron weds alt-country and traditional folk on Death Songs for the Living (Transmit Sound, 2006).

The Search (2007), with the addition of Derry Deborja on keyboards, is a rather uneventful parade of conventional Farrar sermons; and American Central Dust (2009) had no verve and no purpose, other than recycling the Son Volt sound.

One Fast Move Or I'm Gone: Kerouac's Big Sur (2009) was a soundtrack composed with Death Cab For Cutie's Benjamin Gibbard.

Crosby Stills Nash & Young must have been the inspiration for the supergroup formed by Son Volt's Jay Farrar, Centro-matic's Will Johnson, Anders Parker and My Morning Jacket's Jim James that debuted with New Multitudes (2012), a concept devoted to reinventing the music for old Woody Guthrie lyrics. Best is James' Talking Empty Bed Blues, that recaptures the dejected pathos of the "dust bowl ballads".